


BBCW

by Olivia_Ivy



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Sherlock (TV), Supernatural, Superwholock - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-04
Updated: 2014-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-19 20:33:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2401994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Olivia_Ivy/pseuds/Olivia_Ivy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Source: Tumblr.) "What if the Doctor was a little boy in a coma? His regenerations were times when he almost died or woke up, his companions were other children in the ward, and the TARDIS was his life support." And what if the Winchesters were there too, being treated for a fatal disease? And Sherlock lived in the psychiatric ward of that same hospital. And what if, late at night, Dean would gather Sam, Sherlock, and any other patients in the little boy's room and tell them stories. Stories of monsters and magic, of the future and the past, of consulting detectives and psychotic serial killers. What if they were all just sick children, staving of boredom in the Bartholomew Burton Children's Ward - the BBCW.</p>
            </blockquote>





	BBCW

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, this is my first story on AO3. I write on fanfiction.net, mostly, so if you want to read my other works, go right ahead. I hope people actually read this, because I have nothing else to do. Enjoy!

**Prologue**

_Eleven Years Ago_

Eleven years ago was a lot of things. It was 2003, two years after the event that shook the nation. It was thirty-three years after the Bartholomew Burton Memorial Hospital opened its doors. It was twelve years after the Bartholomew Burton Memorial Hospital Children’s Ward opened. It was the year that In Da Club by 50 Cent topped the charts, for whatever reason.

It’s also the year a teenage boy and girl, walking home from Love Actually (number 2 movie of that year), passed a dumpster. A dumpster that cried.

They raced to the dumpster, located the crying baby, and called nine-one-one. The ambulance brought the two teenagers and the baby to Bartholomew Burton emergency room.

If that baby was in a dumpster one street to the right, he'd be dead. One street to the left, and he would've been brought to Lawrence Presbyterian Hospital.

But the crying baby was in the dumpster on Baker Street. And he was treated in the BBER. And he was admitted to the BBCW.

Two months later, John Winchester - father, husband, mechanic, future drunk - went back upstairs to his room after the buzz of his old TV alerted him to the late hour. He was stopped by a blood-curdling scream from his youngest son's nursery. John barely registered yelling for his wife before he ran to little Sammy's room.

Mary Winchester - mother, wife, soon-to-be deceased - was lying in the middle of her son's room. There were no outward injuries. But inside, her large intestine all but exploded. Several of her organs were bleeding as well, and a couple had shut down. All Mary knew was that she felt like she had been stabbed.

Sammy Winchester - six months old - was still crying as John knelt by his wife. As soon as John touched her, Mary screamed again. She felt like she was burning.

All the crying and screaming woke the final member of the Winchester household. Dean, four years old, a happy kid now confused and scared. He looked into his little brother's room as his mother shrieked and his father sat frozen and Sammy cried.

John seemed to notice his oldest son and started moving again. He left his wife's side and grabbed the six month old. He handed Sammy to Dean. "Dean, take your brother outside and call nine-one-one! Go, Dean, now!"

Dean held Sammy (whose wailing had quieted slightly at the presence of his big brother) close to his chest and ran down the stairs. He stopped in the kitchen for a microsecond to grab the cordless phone, then bolted out the door. Out of habit, he lifted himself so he was seated on the hood of John's '69 Chevy Impala. Dean called 911, and told them something was wrong with his mother. He never let go of Sammy for a minute.

The ambulance came, and, after a lot of screaming and crying, got Mary in. John nearly punched the EMT who hooked Mary up to an IV drip and made her cry. He wanted to ride with her, but one look at his sons, and John grabbed his car keys.

The old Impala stayed close to the ambulance all the way to the BBER.

Two days passed, full of hoping and praying, and testing and injecting, and operating and everything else the doctors could've done. Mary Winchester died. John thought God was being overly cruel when she was pronounced dead on Sammy's six month birthday.

The doctors diagnosed an extremely rare genetic disease that has no name. When they said it was genetic, John's heart almost stopped. He demanded that he and his sons be tested for the same disease. No force in Hell or Earth would stop him.

The next day, the tests came back with grim news. Originally, the doctors thought John was crazy for wanting to be tested - "It's _genetic_ ," they insisted, "The chances of you having it are slim to none!" Apparently, the chances were just slim. John tested positive for being a carrier to that disease. Sam and Dean both had it. Because John was a carrier, the doctors theorized that it would present itself differently in the boys.

That was the day a small part of John Winchester died.

Three months after that, a four year old boy who lived on Baker Street had a small mental break. He didn't know it at the time, no one did. When a four year old starts talking to the air and not making any sense while doing so, people assume they made an imaginary friend. They don't think he's a psychopath. But they will. Everyone in the small town of Lawrence Kansas will become all too aware of William Holmes, the strange boy who solves non-existent crimes.

But for now, with ten days to Christmas, the BBER staff are gearing up for holiday injuries. Not one of them spared baby John Doe a second thought as a nurse in the BBCW changed his diapers and medication. They forgot about the two boys whose father dragged them to the best hospitals in the state only to receive the same news over and over. None of them cared who William Holmes was, or the people he would hurt until he hurt them.

No, they didn't care about the lives that would be touched and the worlds that would be traveled with four sick boys and their friends.


End file.
